


When Worlds Collide

by TheRealLadyLoki



Category: Deadpool (2016), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Wade Wilson, Consensual Underage Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Hurt Wade, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jealous Wade, M/M, Peter Parker is an Avenger, Peter-centric, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Top Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealLadyLoki/pseuds/TheRealLadyLoki
Summary: Peter went to sleep the sixteen-year-old lover and protege of the one and only billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark. He woke up the thirty-five year old husband of Wade Wilson, with a job at the Daily Bugle, three super-powered munchkins, and... the Iron Man and Captain America for parents. And... why does his face look like Tobey Maguire?More importantly, what the hell happened, and how does he get back to his own timeline before shit starts to get really weird?





	1. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come?

It started out as an ordinary day, like any other.

After hitting the snooze button on his alarm clock six times in a row, he made himself late for school. He'd had another late night out on patrol - he still didn't know how he'd managed to convince his Aunt May to let him continue patrolling the city after she'd found out he'd been lying to her for how many months, but... hey, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth - and had neglected to finish his Advanced Chemisty homework, or even start the reading for his Medieval English Literature class.

He was amazingly bright, which would get him far in life - but Mr. Stark had already made it abundantly clear that he would not be pleased if Peter chose the life of a high school drop-out in favor of becoming a full-time superhero. There was just no way around it. He'd have to make more time for his studies, and he'd get right on that... tomorrow.

Right now, he was on his third attempt to button his shirt (after an embarrassing incident where he'd managed to put his jeans on backward...), he only had one sneaker on, and he was attempting to suddenly develop telekenesis so that he could put cream cheese on his bagel without using his hands. Once his shirt was buttoned, he hopped around on one foot, trying to force his left foot into his other sneaker while tying the laces on the right. When that didn't work, he resolved to tie them when he got to school.

"Bye Aunt May! I'll see you tonight!" His words were somewhat garbled, however, around the still-dry bagel clenched beneath his teeth.

The lack of clarity in his words proved to be of little consequence, however, as Aunt May was barely conscious herself. "Have a good day at school..." her words were cut off by snores. Peter couldn't help but smile, glad that she was finally able to get some decent rest.

The trip to school was... chaotic, to say the least. He'd made it halfway there before he realized he'd forgotten his backpack on the couch, and had to turn around and retrieve it. On his second attempt, he could hear the three bells signaling the start of the school day when he was still a half-mile away from campus. He'd had to climb in an open window in his Calculus classroom and drop noiselessly into a seat in the back row while the teacher's back was turned.

When she turned from the chalkboard to address a question from last night's homework, she looked on Peter in irritation. "Mr. Parker, I was not born yesterday. Sneaking into class after the bell has rung without the proper papers from the office is good for one detention."

Flash grinned wolfishly at him. "Little Penis Parker got detention?" He gasped, eyes widening in mock awe. "The world must be coming to an end."

"And since you're so talkative, Flash, I don't see why you wouldn't mind sharing with the class the answer to number one from last night's homework?" She tapped her pen against the whiteboard expectantly, and if looks could kill, Peter would have been six-feet under.

Flash shuffled some papers around, clearly attempting to buy himself some time. As more time passed, their teacher's irritation seemed to grow exponentially. "Um..." As more time passed, it became abundantly clear that he hadn't done the assignment either. "...Four and two-thirds?"

 

The teacher pinched the bridge of her nose, "Not even close, Flash." She turned to Peter, "Care to attempt to redeem yourself, Mr. Parker?"

Knowing that there was no way he'd be able to walk away from this without getting his ass beaten into the next century, he figured it would be best to just bite the bullet and answer. All it took was a quick glance at the board and he had it, "Seventeen and one-fifth."

"Correct." She sighed, "Good work, Mr. Parker."

The rest of the day went by in much the same manner. Flash had attempted to cram him into his locker between Calculus and lunch (and had, much to his chagrin, mostly succeeded), he'd tripped in the cafeteria and spilled his lunch all over the floor, Ned was out with the stomach bug and so he didn't have a lab partner in Chemistry... In fact, a day that had started out like any other had quickly deteriorated into one where nothing (and he did mean absolutely  _nothing_ ) went right.

So he thought it was fairly understandable that he was more than a little apprehensive about the black, unmarked car that pulled up in front of the school as soon as the last bell rang. It didn't help that the car followed him for two blocks until Happy rolled down the window and demanded he get in the back of the car - he was attracting too much unwanted attention. Happy barely slowed the car down long enough for him to slide in the backseat before speeding off down the interstate. 

* * *

It was a night that started out like any other. 

Peter didn't think that he'd ever tire of Mr. Stark's cooking. On the rare occasion that Tony decided to cook for him, he certainly did not disappoint. Tonight's meal had consisted of pasta primavera, with a small side garden salad and tomato soup with fresh basil leaves. And, as if he could even think about taking another bite after all of that food, for dessert Tony had made a delicious blueberry and lemon sorbet that had had the teen positively drooling. 

They sat together in front of the television now, with Peter flipping through the channels and Tony focusing on the new schematics for his suit. Every so often, Tony would squeeze one of the teen's feet affectionately, and the teen would toss an M&M in his mouth as a 'thank you' for his efforts. The one pound bag of M&Ms was already half-empty, which he was sure Tony would make a snide remark about later - Peter would punch him in the shoulder and Tony would offer to find another way to occupy his mouth.

"Not that any man my age has the right to complain about a cute young thing like yourself making a nest out of their lap,  _but_..." Peter rolled his eyes, tossing another M &M into the older man's mouth. "What's gotcha all snuggly tonight, Spidey?"

Peter smirked, "It's just, I've got this life-sized teddy bear all to myself - he likes to act all cool and distant, but I happen to know his weakness."

"Cute young men dressed only in one of my t-shirts and a pair of boxers?" Tony asked - if Peter didn't know better, he would've thought the man was dead serious.

"No, dumbass." He threw his head back and laughed, "Do you know how much of a creeper you sound like when you say shit like that? Not that I mind distracting you by wearing your clothing." He snuggled down into the oversized Metallica t-shirt he was wearing in order to emphasize his point, "I meant M&Ms."

"Ah, yes. I do seem to have a weakness for things that...  _melt in my mouth_." Taking another M &M, he cracked the hard shell against the roof of his mouth and let the candy begin to melt against his tongue... before leaning in and pressing his lips firmly against Peter's, his tongue spreading the chocolate treat over the inside of the teen's mouth.

After several intense seconds, Peter drew back, "You don't play fair, old man."

"Nah, I play to win."

The Stark Pad had rolled off of Tony's lap and hit the floor with a soft  _thud_ , and the machine switched over into power saver mode. In exchange, Tony pulled the boy up onto his lap, hooking his arms lightly around the boy's slim waist and nuzzling into his neck. Peter laughed as the rough, short hairs of Tony's stubble brushed against his neck. It was romantic and sweet and so freaking adorable... a side of Tony that only Peter was allowed to see. And then Peter had to go and ruin it by opening his big fat mouth.

"Tony... what's gonna happen when I graduate high school?" He regretted it immediately after it came out of his mouth - Tony's lips froze from where they'd been attacking his jugular. Several tense moments passed before Peter hurriedly back tracked, "Y'know what? That was a stupid question, forget I said anything. Why would anything change -,"

But Tony wasn't listening. Instead, he answered almost robotically, "You'll go to college - preferrably MIT - and meet a girl with a big, beautiful brain and a body to match. You'll fall hopelessly in love and run off into the sunset together, have a bunch of little spiderlings, and live a full life."

Peter could practically feel his heart breaking, "And where are you in all of this?"

Tony patted his head, as if he were a confused, petulant child and not a full grown man, "It's only a matter of time until you realize that you deserve so much better than me." He mumbled sadly, "I'm just along for the ride until that time comes."

Peter looked positively crestfallen, "Don't I get to have a say in any of this?" Tony began to self-consciously worry his bottom lip, as if he were afraid of what would come out of the kid's mouth. "Whose to say that I won't choose to stay with you, despite the odds? Why do you assume that I'd just leave you at the drop of a hat?"

Tony shook his head, "Everyone leaves eventually. That's just a fact of life. There's no use in denying the inevitable."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, so he just curled up in Tony's arms and held him as tight as he could. He'd known from the start that Tony had issues as far as self-confidence - he wasn't without his own batch of insecurites - but he didn't think that they went so deep that Tony would have convinced himself that Peter would inevitably leave him for someone 'better' than him. The idea troubled Peter for the rest of the night, even after Tony returned his attention to his Stark Pad. 

Tony didn't come to bed with him that night. He said that he had some schematics to tend to down in the lab, but Peter knew the truth. He'd sat on the California King, knees drawn into his chest and face buried in the cool fabric of the t-shirt he'd borrowed from Tony. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and once again he found himself regretting having asked such a foolish question. What if Tony shut him out completely? What if he went and found someone else?

Some time later, Peter finally caved in to his exhaustion, tears glistening on his lashes and the bed cold and empty beside him. 

 


	2. A Whole New World

"You want to remind me what we're doing here... at four in the morning... about to do something that would kill lesser women?" Toni eyed her older sister curiously. It was pitch black in the kitchen, save for the light pouring out from the refridgerator - Everett was unloading a handful of items onto the counter that Toni couldn't see.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Evvie teased. "It's just a harmless prank. Once Dad wakes up, I'm sure he'll get a kick out of it." 

Toni raised one ebony eyebrow, "You do realize that he sleeps with a  _loaded_ pistol under his pillow, yes?"

Evvie rolled her eyes, "Seriously, sometimes I wonder how the two of us are related. We'll be fine - now take this Redi-Whip." A cold aluminum can came flying toward her from the darkness, and she caught it with ease. "Here's the plan."

It was an old classic - Toni, the stealthier of the two, would situate herself between their fathers and put the whipped cream on their papa's hand. Once this was accomplished, Evvie would tickle his face with a feather until he smacked himself in the face with the sweet treat. After that, it was every woman for themselves. Undoubtedly, the commotion would cause their dad to wake up, and while Evvie assumed that he'd find the whole mess hysterical... well, there was always the chance he'd be epically ticked off. 

Upstairs, their dads slept peacefully in a bed that looked like it had seen better days. They'd learned the hard way that walnut absorbed blood like a sponge did water, and that waterproof matress protectors were not necessarily blood-proof. Needless to say, an outside observer probably would have several questions. Well-founded questions. 

Not to mention the overwhelming scent of bleach... Someone might get to thinking that there was a murder in there. 

Pushing the door open, Toni tip-toed over to the foot of the bed. Amazingly, there was actually a space between Wade and Peter's bodies - larger enough for a twelve-year-old to squirm her way in between them, at least. Carefully, she climbed up onto the bed and crawled over to Peter's side, shaking the bottle of Redi-Whip as she went. There was a sharp  _hiss_ as the sweet treat shot out of the cannister and into Peter's outstretched hand. Much louder than they'd anticipated it would be, at any rate. 

Wade started to shift, grumbling beneath his breath. One scarred hand stretched out, perhaps as an involuntary reflex, or maybe searching for Peter - the hand made contact with Toni's shoulder and latched on, pulling her taut against his chest. The pre-teen let out a surprised little squeal, her foot coming down  _hard_ on their father's knee. Blue eyes  _popped_ open and Toni  _flew_ into the air, and Everett was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. 

Toni hit the floor with a  _smack_ , causing Peter to wake with a start - he managed to smack himself in the face with the whipped cream all on his own, no feather required. 

Groaning, Peter opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, the sound of a gun firing cut through the commotion and drywall and ash came pouring down onto the bed. "What in the name of God is going on here?!" Wade snapped. "Last time I checked, four in the morning is time for all daddies and little girls to be in their goddamn dreamlands."

As Peter cleaned the whipped cream away from his eyes and realized what it was that was going on, his face was a perfect manifestation of his horror - "Who the fuck are you?"

Wade, thank the Lord, lowered the gun... before looking at Peter as if he'd suddenly grown a second head. "What the fuck is your problem, baby boy? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed or somethin'?"

"Drop the weapon. Now!" He found himself reaching for the web shooter he kept on his bedside table... only to find an alarm clock and a discarded leather arm watch in its place. He'd just have to do things the old fashioned way, then, "I said drop the damn gun!" 

"Daddy..?" Much to Peter's surprise, the young child was hiding behind the maniac brandishing the gun... and not behind him. "I'm scared."

"It was just a harmless prank, Pops. No reason to get your knickers in a twist." Everett said, able to see that the situation had clearly spiraled out of control. 

"I'm a sixteen-year-old boy, in a strange man's bedroom, with two kids that seem to think I'm their father and a maniac that seems to think we have some sort of...  _bond_." Peter looked at his hand in horror, the last vestiges of whipped cream bearing a vague resemblance to something more sexual in his half-awake state. "What the  _fuck -,"_

"As one of the select few that's been tapping that sweet ass for almost eighteen years, baby boy, I can say for certain that you ain't sixteen anymore." Wade said.

Everett started to gag, " _Way_ ,  _way_ too much information, Daddy."

"I'm not... But I can't be... This doesn't make any fucking sense!" In his frustration, he lashed out and hit Wade's arm hard enough to send the gun flying across the room. Wade winced, but wisely remained silent. 

Stumbling off of the bed, Peter backed himself into the adjoining bathroom and groped blindly at the wall until he managed to turn on the light. He didn't take his eyes off of his three horrified family members until he turned around to eye his reflection in the mirror. Sure enough, the occasional streak of gray mingled with the rich, chocolate brown of his hair, and there were crow's feet beside his eyes. Moreover, his entire facial structure was somehow... different. It was like he wasn't even himself anymore. 

And so he did what any sensible sixteen-going-on-forty year old would do. He screamed. 

* * *

What. The. Actual. Fuck. Had. Happened. 

Last he remembered, he'd had an almost fight with Tony and had ended up retiring to the bedroom alone. Next thing he knew, he'd woken up twenty-two years later in a body that was definitely not his own - Who the hell was that man lying next to him? The ring on his finger suggested that it was his husband, but that couldn't be right. Peter only had eyes for Tony, not some psycho that slept in a fucking mask and kept a gun underneath his pillow! 

And what was this about having kids? The older girl - Everett, Evvie for short (super-hearing was especially handy in a townhouse in the Bronx with walls that would've passed for paper) - was  _older_ than him. That wasn't even physically possible! 

This had to be a nightmare. A negative reaction to all the rich, delicious food that Tony had prepared for them the night before. And now that he knew it was a dream, all he had to do was force himself to wake up. Simple. And since actions taken in dreams usually had some form of real world equivalent (a dream about running usually leads to waking up with sore limbs), all he had to do was make himself so uncomfortable it would be virtually impossible to remain sleeping.

And so he started to bash his head into the wall.

Really, the idea seemed a lot better before actually being put into practice.

"Petey, honey, is everything alright in there?" The gunman was cooing at him softly through the door, talking to him as one might a terrified toddler. Peter's stomach turned.

"Daddy, what's wrong with Papa?" That sounded like the younger girl. There were some hushed whispers that Peter was unable to decipher, even with his heightened hearing. Finally, a tentative knock on the door, "Did you fall and hit your head, Papa?"

Thinking quickly, he turned the lock on the door and slid the biggest piece of furniture he could find in front of it. It wouldn't stop a speeding bullet, but it would definitely keep him from breaking the door down... for now. "I have nothing to say to a... to a fucking _kidnapper_!" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... I may be a lot of things, but I'm certainly no kidnapper." Now he sounded angry. Distantly, Peter recalled that he'd left the gun in the bedroom...

"Shit, shit, shit... what do I do? What do I do?" He began groping at his pajama bottoms, hoping beyond hope that - Yes!

As it turned out, he was just as compulsive about his cell phone in this strange dream world as he was in reality, and his phone, fully charged, was sitting in the left pocket on his flannel pajama bottoms. With trembling hands, he fished it out of his pocket and began to go through the contacts... The names were... _unfamiliar_ , to say the least. Who was this Harry Osbourne fellow? And why were there so many pictures of the two of them together in his camera roll?

Further scrolling revealed pictures of him with a pretty brunette - in some, they were holding hands, in others, their faces were squished tight together as they beamed at the camera... in one, they were even kissing. Peter had never been very interested in the opposite sex. He'd tried with Liz, if only because Tony had practically demanded he make an attempt at having a somewhat normal teenage life... But he didn't think he'd ever looked as happy with her as he did with this mysterious woman. 

And then there were pictures of the freak on the other side of the door, who sounded so helplessly confused and hurt that it almost,  _almost_ broke Peter's heart. 

Eighteen years worth of memories were recorded in pictures on that phone. Memories that he had no recollection of. Faded wedding photos forever preserved by the miracle of technology, the birth of what appeared to be vibrant and lively twins, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays... everything was there. And Peter couldn't remember a thing. 

Suddenly remembering what he'd grabbed the phone for in the first place, he returned to contacts and started searching for Tony's name. What he found was the word 'Dad' with what looked like an emoji of the Iron Man helmet next to it. Weird. Without putting too much thought into it, he dialed the number and waited anxiously for the other man to answer. 

He'd never been more grateful for the man's chronic insomnia as he was in that moment, when Tony answered on the second ring, "Hey, Pete. A little late to be making house calls, isn't it?" The older man chuckled, "What can I do you for?" 

"Look, something really fucking weird is going on here, and I didn't know who else to call -," He looked at the door nervously - the voices on the other side had gone silent. "I know that there's a tracer in my phone - you should be able to use it to lock on to my coordinates."

Tony, entirely unperturbed, shuffled some papers around on the other end of the line. "Pete, you've been home all week taking care of Stephanie - the little Typhoid Mary got chicken pocks, remember?" 

"There's another one?!" Peter exclaimed in horror. 

"Yes, yes, three children. Everett, Antonia, and Stephanie. Y'know, your Pops was just tickled pink that you named those little angels after us -,"

What the hell was he not understanding about  _emergency_? He needed Tony over here  _yesterday_. And why was he referring to Captain America as 'Pops'? Last time he checked, Dads weren't supposed to try and kill you. "I need you to come over. There's something going on and I... I'm scared, okay?"

"How many times do I have to remind you that the damn merc is unkillable? Trust me, I've run all the possible scenarios... twice."

" _Please_ , Tony?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, before Tony finally relented. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty."

Twenty minutes. He could do that. He let the phone slip out of his hand, hitting the tile floor with a soft  _thud_. In twenty minutes, order would be restored and he would be back where he belonged: in Tony's bed, waiting for the older man to come to his senses and snuggle up into his side, whispering soft apologies as he teased his stubble against Peter's sensitive skin. In twenty minutes, this would all be over...

The door creaked open in the master bedroom, and feather soft footfalls alerted him to the presence of yet another child. A frosty chill came over the air and someone whispered, "Oh God, she's awake."

And then it all went dark. 

 


End file.
